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In 1919, Dwight Chapman inherited a house located at 40 South St. that originally served as a rooming house on the Blake Estate. The 74 year-old Chapman was a veteran of the Civil War and described as a cranky old eccentric with a foul mouth and a roving eye for young woman. He lived alone in an unattached building behind the rooming house on the bottom floor. It wasn’t a big space, just enough for an old single man. The outside area in front of Chapman’s place was an open area used as a vegetable garden, along with a trellised grape vine and stacks of wood used for heating. Chapman kept chickens and pigs, and he fed them with scraps from area eateries. The property was on a corner lot at Cottage St., opposite the Central House where Chapman spent much of his time.

Chapman’s Place

In 1919 a young couple got off the train at the Westborough
station and went to the Central House to find lodging but were directed to
Chapman’s place. The man was Harry Baker and the attractive young woman with
him was his wife Eleanor Baker, so he said. The couple walked across the street
and found Chapman tending his garden. Immediately Chapman took a liking to the
young woman and was more than happy to rent the couple a room.

As was customary in Westborough, newcomers received nicknames after a few days in town. From that time on Harry became “Sneaks” Baker and his pretty little wife was known as “Baby Doll” Baker. For the next several days the couple got around the downtown and even applied for jobs at the Westborough State Hospital.

The Bakers were only in town for a couple weeks before they quickly disappeared without anyone knowing. This situation in itself was not unusual as downtown Westborough was a center for transients, salesmen, job searchers, and tourists.

Then, Westborough Police Chief Robert Johnson was notified by the keepers of the Central House that they hadn’t seen Chapman for several days. Although not out of the ordinary, the locals began to think that the coincidence of Chapman’s absence from his daily routine and the Baker’s sudden disappearance was suspicious. It seems as though Baby Doll had made it known that the old man was making sexual innuendos and advances towards her that made her feel uneasy. It was also observed that Chapman was suddenly flashing a wad of dough.

Chapman Kitchen, with safe on the right

Although Chapman’s absence was not a total surprise, the chief went to his place and saw the curtains pulled. There being no response at the door, he broke the lock and entered. When the chief entered the kitchen, he was first met with an odor of rotting food and observed the usual squalor. But when the chief saw a large safe with the dial-lock knocked off and damage to the top of the safe, his curiosity became elevated.

As the chief opened the door to Chapman’s bedroom he observed what appeared to be a body under a blanket and was taken aback by the odor of death. He pulled down the blanket and found a naked Chapman lying lifeless with his head covered with blood. The discovery of the body was immediately deemed a murder.

Chapman Death Bed

The chief notified State Detective Robert Molt and asked for help in the murder investigation. A crime scene was established, and a subsequent search for evidence was conducted. During this time, the chief discovered a bloody claw hammer, a pry bar, and a hand drill near the safe. Although the safe had been badly damaged, the door remained closed and locked. The intent to rob was clearly obvious. Also discovered was that Chapman had taken a $1,500 mortgage on the property, which gave a strong indication as to motive. There was no money or other valuables found. The chief then ordered to have the safe opened and found it totally empty.

The Open Safe

Dr. C. S. Knight, state medical examiner, arrived to examine the deceased and declared Chapman dead of a skull fracture by multiply blows to the head with a sharp-edged weapon. As rigor mortis had set in and decomposition had begun, the doctor estimated the time of death between 24 and 36 hours from discovery.

As the chief began his investigation beyond the crime scene he questioned a number of people who had contact with Chapman. Word quickly spread through the community that Chapman was bludgeoned to death while he slept. It didn’t take long before the chief had his prime suspects, the Bakers, and after a search of their room he was convinced. The Bakers had left town in a hurry leaving behind a small travel bag, some cloths and a couple of notes of paper. But where were they now?

The chief then got a break when he talked with a railroad clerk who remembered Baker at the station buying two tickets for the 7:20 a.m. train to Boston but arrived late and waited for the 8:03 a.m. train instead. He remembered Baker and his pretty female companion who had one travel bag. Ironically, there were two of Baker’s trunks on the platform but only one got on the train, the other accidentally left behind. This trunk was opened and contained men’s clothing and more documents revealing the Bakers names and some of their history.

Another bit of luck came to the chief when a tracer put on Baker’s trunk revealed that the trunk went to North Station and was then loaded on the Boston and Maine Railroad to Portland, Maine.

When Chief Johnson learned that the Bakers were headed north to Portland, he immediately notified the authorities there to be on the look-out for the Bakers. However, by the time the message trickled down to the Portland beat cops, the hapless Bakers had accidentally boarded a ferry to Peaks Island thinking it was a transcontinental ship to Europe. When the Portland detectives tracked the couple to Peaks Island, they found the Bakers were gone, but they collected evidence indicating that the pair had left for Bangor. Upon notification, the Bangor Police alerted the entire force to be on the look-out for the suspected murderers. At the same time, Chief Johnson and Detective Molt were alerted of the new evidence and immediately boarded the next train to Bangor.

Union Station at Bangor, Maine

Days later, Bangor Detective Golden having difficulty locating the Bakers and frustrated by the conventional method of interviewing people by knocking on doors decided on a hunch to stake out the train station in the hope of coming across Baker. In possession of a good description of the tall 25 year-old with a slender build, wearing a cap and a pinch back jacket, he saw a man of that description. He let him walk by without saying a word and noticed that the man avoided eye contact with him by staring straight ahead towards the Bangor House. But this man had a mustache. Could this be Baker? The detective decided to call out Baker’s name.

When the young man stopped and turned to the detective, a surprised Golden asked, “Are you Harry Baker?” Bakers face went pale and his head dropped as he replied, “Yes.” Then Detective Golden identified himself as a Bangor Police Officer and informed him of the Fugitive from Justice Warrant against him. Baker had easily given up. He was tired of running and living a lie. Golden then asked, “Where is your wife?”

Baker momentarily paused and looked at the hotel. “She is a chamber maid at the Bangor Hotel,” he replied. This was too easy, Golden thought to himself. He called for back-up and went to the hotel where Baker pointed out Baby Doll. As the detective approached her she made a lunge for her purse, but she was intercepted by a second officer, who opened her purse to find a small caliber handgun. The chase was over, and now they were both in custody.

Chief Johnson and Detective Holt had arrived the day before and now took charge of the suspected murderers. They took them before a Maine Magistrate where the Bakers waived extradition and denied any knowledge of Chapman’s death. However, upon returning to Westborough Harry Baker admitted to killing Chapman in defense of his wife’s honor. In a surprise plea deal, Baker admitted in court to second degree murder and was sentenced to life in jail. Harry took the rap for Baby Doll Baby, who was given a one-year sentence as an accessory to the crime.

Detective Holt with Harry Baker, age 25, while Westborough Chief William Johnson escorted Eleanor “Baby Doll” Baker, age 20, into the Worcester County Courthouse.

The Rest of the Story . . .

After returning to Westborough, Chief Johnson and Detective Holt interviewed the Bakers while they were incarcerated at the Worcester Jail awaiting trial. It turns out that Baby Doll had a criminal past before coming to Westborough, while Baker had no record and was from Reading, Pennsylvania. How the couple met and why they came to Westborough was not known. It turns out that Baker named her “Baby Doll,” while she called him “Daddy.”

The interview revealed that Baby Doll was never married to Baker. Her name was actually Eleanor Reise. She was married and originally lived in Wisconsin. But after an incident of marital discord with her husband, Eleanor was arrested for throwing vitriol on him and was sentenced to six months in jail. When released, she never reunited with her husband or bothered to get a divorce.

Although Baker freely admitted to killing Chapman, investigators were not totally convinced that he was the murderer. The autopsy revealed that Chapman was not only struck numerous times on the head with a sharp instrument (a claw hammer), but he also suffered blunt trauma (a hammer head) to his lower belly and arms. The wounds, they concluded, were not consistent with Baker’s admission. They surmised that the act was a rage killing by a disturbed person, not Baker.

The unexpected plea to guilty of second degree murder by Baker was believed to deflect any suspicion or wrong-doing away from Baby Doll, both to keep her from a murder charge and keep her off the witness stand. The fact that she was not married to Baker would have made her eligible to testify, and that would not have bode well for her. In the end, there was no trial.

Baby Doll and Harry Baker pose for this courthouse photo.

Baby Doll Goes to Jail

In December 1919, Baby Doll was sentenced to the Worcester Jail for a one-year term but was paroled after serving six months. Upon her release, Eleanor changed her name to Hazel Manning and dyed her hair red. She got a job as an elevator operator in Worcester, then worked at the Wrentham and Foxboro State Hospitals. While living in Worcester, she kept her promise to wait for Baker and visited him often at the Charlestown Jail. However, her loyalty to Baker was short lived. As soon as Baker had given her all his money, she ceased all contact with him.

Not long after Baby Doll was paroled, she hooked up with a Boston cop who tried to help her after she was robbed of $200. The cop became enamored with Baby Doll, and he abandoned his wife and four children and quit the police force to be with her. He called her “Tiger Kitten,” and the two were seen at various Boston hotels portraying themselves as married. Shortly after, they were arrested on morals charges, found guilty, and given a six-month jail sentence. But the lovers fled the area pending an appeal. Shortly after, Tiger Kitten was admitted to a Providence hospital as a result of a suicide attempt and an admission of being depressed. The couple then fled to Texas, where they took jobs in a night club.

Baker Recants

After a year in jail, Harry Baker became increasingly enraged with Baby Doll abandoning him. He recanted his confession and stated that Chapman’s murderer was actually Baby Doll. She admitted to Baker that after a drinking binge at the Central House, she went to Chapman’s place with the express intent of taking revenge and stealing the old man’s money. But the encounter did not go well, and to escape Chapman’s advances she bludgeoned his head with a claw hammer numerous times.

When she told Baker what happened, he told her that he loved her and vowed to take responsibility for the act. The next morning the pair returned to the scene of the crime and found a pry bar and drill to break into the safe, but they were unsuccessful. After covering Chapman’s body, they attempted to clean up the crime scene and locked the door from the outside. That evening they packed their travel trunks in preparation for a speedy escape and the next morning boarded a train for Boston.

In 1933, the former-cop-turned-lover of Tiger Kitten returned to Boston to make amends with his deserted wife and kids. He had been thrown out, and Tiger Kitten was again on the prowl. Once back in Boston, he was apprehended by a bail bondsman on the default warrant for jumping bail for the old morals charges. He was held without bail and sent to jail for six months.

Meanwhile, Eleanor Reise, alias Baby Doll Baker, alias Hazel Manning, alias Tiger Kitten, was last seen heading to Mexico, never to be heard of again.

After serving 15 years of a life sentence in jail along with years of pleading his innocence, Harry Baker received a Governor’s Pardon and was placed on parole. However, it wasn’t long before he disappeared. He was later convicted by a Texas court of an armed robbery charge and sentenced to 25 years in jail.

The Baby Doll Murder in historical records

The Racine Journal News: Monday, May 8, 1916

The
most troublesome woman ever arrested is the title given Mrs. Ellen Reise 23
years old, by the Milwaukee police. She is the woman who was captured in this
city last week by Detective Johns, and who, after being placed in charge of police
woman Webers, broke fro her and ran away but Detective Johns afterward having a
race in a taxicab captured her.

Her
husband, Robert Reise testified that she had shot him, attacked him with a pair
of scissors, attempted to burn down his parents’ house, and finally poured acid
on him.

When
taken to the detention rooms she made two or three attempts to get away and had
matches which she probably intended to eat and poison herself. The charge
against the woman was that she threw carbolic acid on her husband when he was
asleep, severely burning him. This was on April 17.

Previous
to this she had masqueraded as a man at Kenosha, This deception she carried out
for ten days. Her husband, Robert Reise, declares that while he slept she threw
the acid on his legs and body and when he was awakened by the burning she stood
by the bed with an empty bottle. ‘He came here and met her on the street and
induced her to accompany him to a hotel and then notified the police and her
arrest followed.

At
Milwaukee she was taken before Judge Pago and he expressed a belief “that
she was not mentally sound. and said that she had attempted to set fire to the
house of her father-in- law and tried to shoot her husband with a shotgun and
that she should be examined when her case is called in the municipal court. The
charges which she made against her husband while here are said to have been the
result of her imagination.

The Racine Journal News: Saturday, May 20, 1916

Ellen
Reise, 23, the woman who, when arrested here some days ago by Detective Johns
attempted to escape from Miss Rose Webbers policewoman then tried to jump out
of a window of the detention rooms in city hall and who was discovery to have a
quantity of matches in her possession with which undoubtedly, intended to
poison herself, broke away from three deputy sheriffs in Milwaukee yesterday,
and attempted to leap from the eighth story of the municipal court building.

The
sheriffs managed to catch her after a desperate struggle she was overpowered.
The charge against the woman is assault with intent to do great bodily harm on
the person of her husband by throwing carbolic acid on him while he slept. She
said that she committed the assault because she loved her husband and was
afraid some other woman, would get him away and she desired to mar his beauty.
She was sentenced to two years in prison. When the judge pronounced sentence,
the woman exclaimed: “O Lord: only two years, I thought I was going to get
fifteen.”

Mr.
Reise testified that the woman shot him on one occasion, attacked him with a
pair of scissors, poured water on him when he was in bed, attempted to burn the
home of his parents and finally poured acid on him.

The Milwaukee Journal, May 19, 1916

The front page of the Milwaukee Journal headline reads: “Furious Woman Startles Court- -Raves, Stamps her feet, Defies Judge and Sheriff- -Dashes Out, but Is Overtaken, Handcuffed and Taken to Jail- Accused of Pouring Carbonic Acid on Sleeping Husband.”

Quivering with rage, Mrs
Ellen Reise, 23, charged with pouring carbonic acid upon her husband, Robert,
stamped her small foot in municipal court Friday, defied the Judge, district
attorney, and sheriff, and then darted through the courtroom door and made for
the banister in the corridor. Deputies seized her, handcuffed her and let her
to the jail.

Mrs. Reise weighs about
ninety pounds. She has been in the jail two weeks and has kept the institution
in a turmoil. Firemen in Engine 1 declared they have scarcely slept for ten
days. The woman sings, shouts and raves throughout the night, according to the
sheriff and prisoners complain they cannot sleep. She has attacked the matron
and sheriffs several times, the court was informed.

She Poured Acid on Him. –

The
woman’s husband took the stand and said that, while he was asleep in his home
on American Ave, she poured carbonic acid over his body. He asserted that she
is extremely jealous, and that she shot at him once, put fire to his home, and
attempted to cut his throat with a razor. He said they quarreled day and night.

After
pouring acid upon him, Reise told the court, she went to the shop where he was
employed and told the foreman that he had committed suicide. She got his pay,
he said, and his tools and clothing, and left the city.

“I
did that to my husband, but I did it because of love,” Mrs. Reise told the
court. “I never did anything to anybody else. Send me to Waupun, but don’t
send me to the insane asylum, I am not crazy.”

Judge
Backus called her attention to the record showing that she has been arrested
several times for being drunk and disorderly. He declined to sentence her, but
appointed Doctors Studley and Bradley to examine her mental condition.

Mentally
Deficient or Mean?

“I
don’t believe she is right mentally,” said the court. “If she is
sound mentally, then she has the meanest disposition of any woman who ever came
into this court.”

During
the time she was before the court, Mrs. Reise kept up a running fire of
comment, informing the district attorney and attaches what she thought of the
proceedings and of them personally.

When the court warned deputies to be careful that the woman did not escape when being taken to the jail, she said: “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Another time she informed the district attorney she was “No rummy,” and that she did not have her ears stuffed with cotton.G

Ebenezer Lincoln getting into his buggy on Main Street, Westborough, photographed by F. E. North.

Westborough has a strong photographic history. Many
photographers maintained studios in Westborough over the years, which is partly
why the documentation of Westborough’s history is so rich and deep. In
celebration and recognition of this history, the Westborough Public Library
through the Westborough Center for History and Culture will annually designate
someone to serve as a Photographer-in-Residence to capture the life and culture
of Westborough over the course of one year. The overall goal is to continue
adding to Westborough’s photographic legacy, showcase how various photographers
approach capturing Westborough’s life and culture differently, and in the
process document changes in the town over time.

The position of Photographer-in-Residence includes a $1,000 stipend, and the term runs from July 1, 2019 to June 30, 2020. Anyone interested in serving in this position should submit a statement of vision for the year-long project and a sample portfolio of no more than twenty (20) photographs by Friday, June 14, 2019. The statement of vision and sample portfolio can be dropped off at the Westborough Public Library’s circulation desk in print and/or in digital form on a thumb drive. This year’s winner will be announced by Friday, June 28, 2019.

Positions are open to all ages from high school
and up.

Positions last for a one-year term, from July 1
to June 30.

The Photographer-in-Residence will receive a
stipend of $1,000 for the year, half of which will be awarded at the beginning
of the term and half at the end.

The Photographer-in-Residence is required to
submit twenty-five photographs every three months for a total of 100
photographs taken throughout the year. Each photograph should capture
Westborough’s life and culture in some way, and information about each photograph
(title, date, description, identification of people and events in the
photographs, etc.) must be included. Photographs can be submitted in digital
and/or printed form.

Anyone interested in applying for the position
must submit a statement of vision for the year-long project and a sample
portfolio of no more than twenty (20) photographs in print or in digital form
on a thumb drive. A committee will decide who will be awarded the position.

Terms can be renewed, but preference will be
given to qualified photographers who have not yet served in the position.

Applicants do not need to be Westborough
residents, but they need to be willing to engage enough with the Westborough
community to produce results.

All photographs submitted as part of the
year-long project become the property of the Westborough Public Library.

Contact Anthony Vaver, Local History Librarian, at avaver@town.westborough.ma.us with any questions.

From Stage-Coach
and Tavern Days by Alice Morse Earle, 1900, pp. 381-384.

In the year 1741 the little
child of Cornelius Cook, the blacksmith of Westborough, Massachusetts, and of
his wife Eunice, lay very close to death. As was the custom of the day, the
good old parson, Dr. Parkman, and his deacons prayed earnestly over the boy,
that the Lord’s will be done; but his mother in her distress pleaded thus:
“Only spare his life, and I care not what he becomes.” Tom Cook recovered, and
as years passed on it became evident by his mischievous and evil deeds that he
had entered into a compact with the devil, perhaps by his mother’s agonized
words, perhaps by his own pledge. [This episode
supposedly took place in the former blue “plaster house” near the corner of
Lyman and East Main Street, which was torn down and replaced with another blue
house a few years ago.] The last year of
this compact was at an end, and the devil appeared to claim his own as Tom was
dressing for another day’s mischief. Tom had all his wits about him, for he
lived upon them. “Wait, wait, can’t you,” he answered the imperative call of
his visitor, “till I get my galluses [suspenders] on?” The devil
acquiesced to this last request, when Tom promptly threw the suspenders in the
fire, and therefore could never put them on nor be required to answer the
devil’s demands.

Tom Cook became well known
throughout Massachusetts, and indeed throughout New England, as a most
extraordinary thief. His name appears in the records of scores of New England
towns; he was called “the honest thief”; and his own name for himself was “the
leveller.” He stole from the rich and well-to-do with the greatest boldness and
dexterity, equalled by the kindness and delicacy of feeling shown in the
bestowal of his booty upon the poor and needy. He stole the dinner from the
wealthy farmer’s kitchen and dropped it into the kettle or on the spit in a
poor man’s house. He stole meal and grain from passing wagons and gave it away
before the drivers’ eyes. A poor neighbor was ill, and her bed was poor. He
went to a thrifty farm-house, selected the best feather bed in the house, tied
it in a sheet, carried it downstairs and to the front door, and asked if he
could leave his bundle there for a few days. The woman recognized him and
forbade him to bring it within doors, and he went off with an easy conscience.

In Dr. Parkman’s diary, now
in the library of the American Antiquarian Society at Worcester, under the date
of August 27, 1779, is this entry: “The notorious Thom. Cook came in (he says)
on Purpose to see me. I gave him w{t} admonition, Instruction, and Caution I
could–I beseech God to give it force! He leaves me with fair Words–thankful
and promising.” There came a time when his crime of arson or burglary led to
his trial, conviction, and sentence to death. He heard the awful words of the
judge, “I therefore sentence you to be hanged by the neck till you are dead,
dead, dead,” and he called out cheerfully, “I shall not be there on that day,
day, day.” And when that day came, surely enough, his cell was empty.

Tom Cook was most attractive
in personal appearance; agile, well formed, well featured, with eyes of deepest
blue, most piercing yet most kindly in expression. He was adored by children,
and his pockets were ever filled with toys which he had stolen for their
amusement. By older persons he was feared and disliked. He extorted from many
wealthy farmers an annual toll, which exempted them from his depredations. One
day a fire was seen rising from the chimney of a disused schoolhouse in
Brookline, and Tom was caught within roasting a stolen goose, which he had
taken from the wagon of a farmer on his way to market. The squire took him to
the tavern, which was filled with farmers and carters, many of whom had been
his victims. He was given his choice of trial and jail, or to run a gantlet of
the men assembled. He chose the latter, and the long whips of the teamsters
paid out many an old score of years’ standing.

* * *

References to Tom Cook in Historical Records and Scholarship

The LIFE, LAST WORDS, and DYING SPEECH of LEVI AMES, Who was executed at Boston, on Thursday Afternoon, the Twenty-first day of October, 1773, for Burglary. Taken from his own mouth, and published at his desire, as a solemn warning to all, more particularly young people. There is a way that seemeth right to a man, but the end thereof are the ways of death. Prov. 14.12.

I
have several times taken sundry articles off of lines, hedges, fences, bushes,
apple-trees, grass, &c. but cannot recollect the owners. Thomas Cook and I stole two great-coats and
sold them. I have left three shirts and several pair of stockings at Scipio Burnam‘s, at Newbury-Port:
I then went by the name of Isaac Lawrence.
I stole an ax out of a cart and hid it in a stone wall between Watertown and Boston,
(the night before I took the money from Mr. Hammond)
in Little Cambridge, near to Mr. Dana‘s tavern; there I left it with a design to
tell it when I came back. . . .

Some
time last fall I saw Thomas Cook, who
told me he had seven pounds of plate hid, viz. a tankard, a number of table
spoons, and one soup ditto; these he dug up while I was with him; we carried
them away from that place and hid them in a stone wall, near a barn, close to
the sign of the bull on Wrentham road,
but he never informed me where he got them, or how he came by them; he offered
me half if I would dispose of them, but I was afraid to do it.

“Among his [Levi Ames’s] victims
were two officeholders in Waltham, Jonathan Hammond and Jonas Dix . . . He had
a partner for the Hammond theft—the ‘infamous’ Thomas Cook, who, according to
Boston diarist John Boyle, was soon apprehended. Not only did the pair rob
Hammond, but they turned cattle into his cornfield, causing considerable damage
to the gentleman’s crops.”

* * *

Parkman’s Diary

1765 September 13 (Friday). When I returned home Mr. Beeman and his Wife
came in, and brought me a Letter from Mr. Manning of Providence. The
Occasion was, Thomas Cook was
found to be the Thief who entered Mr. Beemans House
on the Lords Day and Stole a variety of Goods from them. He had been in
Jail in Providence for Some Time, for other the like Crimes.

1765 December 4
(Wednesday). We have not only Sorrowfull News of the Death of Mr. Cornelius Cook, once of this Town; but
of the sad Condition of Several of his sons — That Daniel is hanged, and that Thomas has been condemned and has broke Jayl. It
occasioned sorrowfull Reflections on Such vicious Lives!

1767 December 2
(Wednesday). John Maynard here at Eve, and Supps with us — relates
Particulars of Thomas Cooks being
taken, Examined and let go from Harringtons at Waltham plain.

1776 November 14 (Thursday).
P.M. The infamous Thomas Cook came
boldly to See me. I gave him what Admonition, Caution and Charge I
could.

1779 August 27
(Friday). The notorious Thomas Cook came in (he says) on purpose to see
me. I gave him what Admonition, Instruction and caution I could. I
beseech God to give it Force! He leaves me with fair Words — thankful and
promising.

1781 July 4 (Wednesday). Dr. Crosby made me a Visit, and dined here. I perceive that the Thieves — [blank] More and Thomas Cook are Sent to Worcester Jayl.

From The Hundredth Town by Harriette Merrifield Forbes, 1889, pp. 146-153.

Of Ruth Buck’s ancestry we know nothing, nor was she associated
with any particular locality. The Town Records mention her first in 1763, about
seventy-one years before her death. In the warrant for the town-meeting, May 9,
1763, one article was, “To see what ye Town will do with respect to Ruth Buck,
which ye Selectmen of this Town have sent to Southboro’, for ye Selectmen of
Southboro’ refuse to take y’e sd Ruth Buck as their proper charge.” They “voted
not to stand Toyal (trial) with Southboro’ with respect to Ruth Buck.” In
October of the same year, Mr. Samuel Allen prayed “that ye Town would Relieve
Him someway or other with respect to Ruth Buck and her child.” They afterwards
appropriated money for her support, and so in the early days of her unfortunate
motherhood she became a town charge.

What became of the little one whose babyhood was so overshadowed
with trouble and want we do not know. The fact of his existence faded from the
minds of most. In 1778 Ruth appeared before the church, confessed her sin, and was
“admitted into full communion.” Of the next years of her life we know nothing;
perhaps they were the best years, spent in the care of her boy.

Full communion with the church did not mean full social
fellowship with the good people of the town. It is not long before we find her
regarded with distrust, though still going from house to house, following her
profession of tailoress, looked upon with fear by the little children, and by
many of their elders as a social outcast and witch.

What she herself thought has come down to us in a very negative
way. Old David Fay, a rough, eccentric man, called out to her one morning as
she was passing his house: —

“Well, Ruth, they say you are a witch.”

“If I’m a witch,” she answered, as she trudged on, “you are the
devil.”

She is remembered as a very stout woman, with large, strong
features. Her temper was uncertain, and many a sharp retort came from her lips.
It was a bad thing to arouse her opposition, and feel the sting of her venomous
hate.

She always wore a cap or handkerchief on her head, sometimes of
white material, more commonly of plaid. Below it was seen a bit of the lobe of
each ear, with a little gold knob fastened into it. She was never seen without
this covering, and it was said and believed that she had a very good reason for
wearing it. One day she had asked a farmer to do some ploughing for her. His
refusal displeased her, and she angrily said, “You will have trouble with your
oxen to-day.” The farmer found she was right; the usually docile beasts refused
to move. At last, feeling sure that they were bewitched, he resorted to the
usual method of letting out the evil spirit, and cut off the tops of their
ears. From that time dates Ruth’s wearing of the head covering, and it was
generally understood that the few who, in some unguarded moment, had obtained a
glimpse beneath it had seen that her ears were cropped.

Across her throat she had a long purple mark, which she covered
with a handkerchief crossed in front. There was a farmer living in Grafton
whose sheep one day showed the familiar and unmistakable signs of being
bewitched, not onlv by their erratic actions, but even more by the blindness
which had suddenly come upon the whole flock. At last he resorted to the “sharp
medicine” of the knife, cutting the throat of the worst one. He had no more
trouble with them; but, until her death, Ruth was marked with a livid line just
where the farmer’s knife had cut the bewitched sheep.

She seems to have oftener used her uncanny influence over inanimate
things. One day she met Mr. Joseph Belknap, soon after he had started from his
farm at Rocklawn, to “go below,” as was the phrase commonly used of a trip to
Boston, with a large number of eggs for the market. She asked for some; but he
refused to sell them, as his box was even, full, and closely packed. “Well, as
you please,” she answered; “but you will never get those eggs safe to the market.”

In some unaccountable way, near the end of his long drive, the
board in the back of his wagon came out, and the box of eggs slid to the
ground. Every one was broken.

Another time, a farmer, against whom she had previously vowed
vengeance, passed her as he was carrying a load of wood to the school-house,
now known as No. 2, near the H. A. Gilmore farm. She told him he would never
reach there safely with his load. She passed on, but the oxen refused to move;
he took off part of the load, but, after a short distance, they stopped again.
This was repeated, until, just before reaching his destination, he threw off
the last stick, and the oxen, starting on a dead run, rushed by the
school-house.

There were innumerable slight annoyances to which the good woman
of the house was subjected, against whom Ruth Buck had a spite. When she
lighted her candles, she found that all below the rim of the old-fashioned
candlestick was gone; only the wick was left. These candlesticks were made with
a long socket, which held more than half the candle; a small slide raised or
lowered at will made it possible to burn them almost the entire length. She
believed the witch had come in an invisible shape and eaten the candles.

Mrs. Samuel Grout was one of the ladies most annoyed by Ruth’s
pranks: her bread wouldn’t rise; it refused to bake, no matter how hot the oven
might be; the butter wouldn’t come, and many other things went wrong in her
work. One day, after churning for a long time, she tried, on a large scale, the
remedy mentioned by Whittier in his New England Legend, —

“The goodwife’s churn no more refuses

Its wonted culinary
uses,

Until with heated
needle burned,

The witch has to her place
returned,” —

and dropped a hot brick into the offending cream. The butter
soon came, but not long afterwards a neighbor ran in saying that Ruth Buck had
been dreadfully burned.

Mrs. Grout, seeing Ruth soon after with her hand in a poultice,
asked her what the matter was.

“You know what is the matter,” was her answer, “and you’ll find
yourself well paid.”

The same day, one of. Mr. Grout’s cows was found with a broken
leg, with no apparent reason for the accident.

This was not the only burn that Ruth received. One day Mrs.
Beeman was very much troubled with the behavior of her spinning-wheel. It
refused to turn, the thread broke, and the good-woman’s patience was well-nigh
exhausted. She took an old horseshoe, heated it red-hot, and laid it on the
wheel. Everything went smoothly after that, but Ruth bore the scar for many a
day.

This woman, so the farmers’ wives thought, had the power of
knowing when she was talked about, and hearing what was said. Perhaps the low
tones thcy thought necessary to use when telling each other about the
afflictions she had brought upon them, may account in part for the lasting
impression of curiosity and awe which her character left on the little children
of the day, now most of them past their eightieth year.

One day she was trudging up a long hill in Upton, when a girl
named Lackey looked out from one of the windows of a house on top of the hill,
and saw her coming. “Oh dear,” she said to her mother,” here comes Ruth Buck. I
hope she isn’t coming to stay.”

Ruth came on, made a pleasant call, but refused all their
invitations to lay aside her wraps. When she stepped over the threshold after
bidding them good-by, her expression changed. Looking sharply at her late
hostesses, she said: “Oh dear, here comes Ruth Buck. I hope she isn’t coming to
stay. Won’t you take off your things? I don’t want you to stay.”

She went off repeating these words to herself.

The last years of her life she was obliged, to a great extent,
to give up her wandering habits. After the manner of dealing with paupers in
the early part of this century, she was knocked down at auction to the person
offering to board her for the least sum, and so fell to the thrifty hospitality
of John Fay, who lived about two miles from the station, on the North Grafton
road.

She finally, in 1834, at the age of ninety-two, ended her days
in the poor-house.

Since her day there has been no one in town invested with her
peculiar gifts.

* * *

From More Old Houses in Westborough, Mass. and Their Occupants, Westborough Historical Society, 1908.

At this house [Morse
Homestead] Ruth Buck came to make the boys’ clothes and Patty was so afraid to
sleep alone that she willingly ran the risk of being bewitched by her bed
fellow. But grandmother said though she watched closely, Ruth never removed her
turban either night or day in her presence. Patty was dying of curiosity to see
for herself whether Ruth’s ear-tips were gone, cut off, as tradition said, when
she was a pig.

Written by Grace W. Bates,
September 1908

* * *

References to Ruth Buck in Historical Records

Ruth Buck’s “Relation of Faith,” 1778. (Also see her “Confession and Apology for Sin” at the beginning of this blog post.)

Parkman’s Diary

1778 July 30
(Thursday). Ruth Buck desires to be propounded in
Order to her Humiliation and joining with the
Church, is Examined.

1778 August 2 (Sunday).
Ruth Buck was propounded.

1778 August 3
(Monday). Mrs. [Jemima Hardy?] was here with Objections
against Ruth Buck. I [advised?] Mrs. Hardy to go to her,
and discourse with her. [illegible] She said she had Seen and
spoke with her. [But to?] little [effect?].

1778 August 11
(Tuesday). Capt. Morse here in Defence of Ruth
Buck against Mrs. Hardy; and insists on her (the
latter) being distracted.

1778 August 12
(Wednesday). [I then went?], and Mr. Elijah Hardy with
me, to Mr. Isaac Parker’s where dwells the widow Jemima
Hardy, that I might direct her with respect to Ruth Buck.
But I found her much out of her Head, and incapable of any regular
Conversation. Dr. Stimson has been here, is soon going
to settle at Great Barrington.

1778 August 15
(Saturday). Miss Ruth Buck came with her Confession
and Relation; and it proved a yet greater Interruption, as I was obliged to new
methodize and wholly transcribe her writings for the public Reading of
them. But there is no material Objection against her.

1778 August 16
(Sunday). At noon Miss Ruth Buck was here, and I read and
She signed the Address she is about to make to the Church.

Learn about the history, worldwide appeal, and rules of cricket from members of the Westborough Cricket Club on Saturday, May 11 at 10:00 a.m. (with a rain date of May 18) at Hennessy Field on 1 Upton Road.

The event will begin with an overview of cricket and the skills needed to play it. Members of the audience will then be asked to play in a game, while others are encouraged to stay and watch the action. Food trucks will also be on hand to provide refreshment. Anyone interested in playing in a cricket game can pre-register at http://westbororec.com/info/activities/program_details.aspx?ProgramID=30096.

Rice Brothers Memorial, 1906 (near the current Westborough High School).

You have probably driven by, walked by, or even stopped to read the plaque on the large stone near the Westborough High School. It marks the spot where one of the most famous stories in the town’s recorded history took place. In 1704, two sons and three nephews of Thomas Rice were captured by the Cagnawaga Indians from Canada. They were kidnapped and taken away from their families. This event happened over 300 years ago. French settlers in Canada had encouraged Indians to raid the American colonies. Sickness had killed many boys in their tribes, so they needed more young men.

Thomas Rice had built a garrison (fort) house near a brook where Westborough High School is now. On a hot summer day, August 8, 1704, a group of men and boys were at work in the nearby field spreading flax. The group included five Rice boys – Asher (10), Silas (9), Adonijah (8), Timothy (7), and Nahor (5). A wooded hill was near the field. Suddenly a party of eight or ten Indians rushed down from the hill and captured the five boys.

After a short distance, Nahor was killed because he was too young to survive the journey to Canada. The place where he was buried became Memorial Cemetery in the center of town. The other four boys were carried off into the woods. The rest of the farmers escaped in panic to the nearby home of Thomas Rice, father of the missing Asher and Adonijah.

What a sad day for these pioneers! They realized their boys had been kidnapped and taken north to Canada to be trained in the native culture. All rescue attempts failed until four years later when Asher was “redeemed” (the ransom paid) by his father. Asher was returned to his family. Later his father built him a home on South Street.

Adonijah, Silas, and Timothy grew up with the Canawaga Indians near Montreal, Canada. Adonijah later married and settled near Montreal as a farmer. Asher lived until age 90 with his family in Westborough and Spencer. He never got over his fear of another attack. He stayed watchful and prepared himself for trouble.

Silas
and Timothy stayed with the Canawagas and adopted their ways. Timothy was
adopted by a chief and became a respected chief (or sachem) of the Iroquois
nation himself. He helped to persuade his tribe not to take sides in the wars
between the English and the French. He visited Westborough in 1740, but he
could no longer speak English. He remembered his old home and some of the
people he had known as a boy.

Perhaps the next time you read the plaque near the high school, you will be able to look out over the hill and picture that summer day – over 300 years ago – when the young Rice boys were ambushed and taken to Canada. How frightened they must have been! How strong they were to survive the experience and learn to live a different life.

Tradition
affirms that Captain Kidd concealed a large portion of his ill-gotten booty
somewhere along the inhospitable shores of the Hobomak, and so vigilantly has
it been guarded by the infernal powers, that not a soul has caught a glimpse of
it since. Not that no attempt has been made to recover it from such infamous
stockholders, and give it a more honorable investment. Many a deep-sunk pit
would you find along the desolate shores of the pond, dug, about the charmed
hour of midnight, by two ignorant day-laborers, while a third stood guard,
holding a drawn sword and gun charged with a silver bullet, and a fourth
marched close to the limit of the magic circle, reading most reverently from a
big family Bible which he carried perpendicularly before him; thus, by weapons
carnal and weapons spiritual, bidding defiance to the Spirit of Darkness. But,
with all their midnight financiering, the gold pieces were never observed to
twinkle particularly bright through the interstices of their silk purses.

* * *

From “A Look at Westborough’s Historic Past,” The Community Advocate, June 27, 1997.

According to Jacqueline Tidman (former historical librarian): “another area – this one off Flanders Road – has been said to be where one of Kidd’s confederates, ‘Pirate Joe,’ buried some of his ill-gotten booty.”

Rev. Ebenezer Parkman (1703-1782) was the first minister of Westborough, and his extensive diary and church records, along with other family papers, correspondence, and records of the town, provide the most complete picture of life in an eighteenth-century rural New England town. Now, for the first time, access to many of Parkman’s writings, including his diary and church records, are freely available to scholars and the public through the Westborough Public Library on a new website, “The Ebenezer Parkman Project” (http://www.EbenezerParkman.org).

Learn about the significance of this unprecedented project from the creators of the website. The program will feature Prof. Ross W. Beales, Jr., who will talk about Parkman, his life, and his writings; Dr. James F. Cooper, Director of New England’s Hidden Histories, who will place Parkman’s writings in the context of other Congregational ministers in New England; and Dr. Anthony Vaver, Local History Librarian at the Westborough Public Library, who will describe the project’s development and demonstrate the website’s features. Note that this program takes place at the Mill Pond School auditorium.

Tea expert Danielle Beaudette will discuss the discovery of tea, the East India Company, and the role of tea in the events leading up to the American Revolution. AND she will have three different kinds of tea to taste! (Part of Westborough History Connections series of programs.)

Saturday, May 11 (rain date: May 18), Time 10:00 a.m., Hennessy Field, 8 Upton Road, Westborough – An Introduction to the Game of Cricket

Learn about the history, worldwide appeal, and rules of cricket from members of the Westborough Cricket Club. You will even get the chance to play in a game! (Part of Westborough History Connections series of programs.) Note that this program takes place at Hennessy Field.

[From p. 10: “The legend of this pond was written by Hon. Horace
Maynard for the ‘Horae Collegianae,’ published by the undergraduates of
Amherst, in 1838. He says it was told to him ‘by an old Indian, the last of his
tribe.’ This was probably old Andrew Brown, of whom more hereafter. With some
omissions, it is as follows: —”]

I.

“‘And this is my wedding-night,’ said the beautiful lano, as she
stood contemplating her lithe and graceful form, mirrored in the glassy rivulet
which forms the outlet of the Hobomak. Her beads and wampum were most daintily
entwined about her neck and arms; her hair hung negligently on her shoulders,
confined only by a fillet of wildflowers; a neatly wrought moccasin concealed a
wanton little foot and ankle; and a mantle of bear-skin completed her attire.
She was the belle of her tribe, and, like all belles, an incorrigible coquette.
All the young warriors had in turn sued for her hand, and all had been rejected
except the chief, Sassacus. He had remained a long time unsusceptible to her
charms; or, if he had been moved, his emotions were kept locked up within his
own breast. Even when he had inwardly re- solved to wed the proud and volatile
creature, he refrained from communicating his sentiments, but adopted a course
of policy which has succeeded in bringing many a flirt into the arms of her
lover since those times. Somebody has said, — caustically enough, to be sure, —
that if the suitor would cease to pursue his mistress, she would turn and give
chase to him. Whether this be truth, or a mere epigram intended for effect, our
regard for the sex will not allow us to decide; such, certainly, was the
experience of Sassacus. He stood aloof from the fair one till she began to pine
in secret for his love. Often would she watch him as he sat in council, or
joined in the wild measures of the war-dance. She fed upon his looks till he
became her soul’s ideal of beauty, — such steadfast limbs, such a massive chest,
such a noble gait, such a lofty, commanding brow! All her arts of fascination
had failed; and a sigh of mingled vexation and despair would escape from the
very bottom of her heart, as she saw him from day to day sporting with the other
and less beautiful maidens of the tribe.

“The keen-eyed chief let none of these things escape his notice;
and when he had sufficiently humbled the proud spirit of the girl, he changed
his demeanor. By a few trifling presents and an occasional flattering word he
kindled a feeble spark of hope in the breast of the fair despondent, but, at
the same time, without allowing her to presume on his affection. In this way he
inveigled her completely into his power, and extorted a full confession of
love, before he had given her the least proof of his ow^n attachment. He now
began to play the lover in real earnest. Having stipulated with the parents of
the maid for the price of her ransom, and all the other preliminaries being
duly settled, he made preparation for the marriage festival. lano had reached
the very pinnacle of happiness. Her step was the lightest among the maidens as
they tripped it through the glades of the forest; her canoe danced gayest as
they glided cheerily over the water. She longed for the hour when the priest
should bind herself and her lover in the mystic girdle. And what betrothed
damsel will not sympathize? Thus she stood by the brook meditating her
approaching happiness, now readjusting her ornaments, and studying the effect;
now patting the water with her tiny foot, and watching the ripples as they
circled out of sight, till the sun had dropped behind the hills, and night had
begun to fling her gray shadows over the earth. In the ecstasy of her joy her
disposition for frolic returned. She had never ventured to play her pranks upon
the stern Sassacus, but the temptation was too great to be resisted; she could
not give up her maiden freedom without one more act of enjoyment. ‘The young
men are assembling,’ she continued, soliloquizing; ‘I hear them laugh. I’ll give
them the slip for one night.’

II.

“The wedding-party had indeed assembled. The warriors were
there, each with all the scalps and wolf-locks he and his ancestors had ever
taken from the foe or secured in the chase. These trophies marked their rank
more truly than the purest heraldic emblazonry; and, reckoned by this rule, Sassacus
was found abundantly deserving the post of chief. He was the bravest of his
nation; no arrow was more certain in its flight, whether winged at man or
beast; and no tomahawk cleft its victim with a more deadly aim than his. On
this occasion he was decked with unusual splendor. The string of fish-bones —
the insignia of royalty — depended from his neck ; a triangular breast-plate,
wrought from the fangs of the catamount, adorned his front; shells of small turtles
dangled from his ears ; a circlet, into which were fastened the tails of
rattlesnakes, entwined his brow, making music as he walked ; a tuft of eagle
feathers crowned his head; while over his left shoulder was carelessly thrown a
robe of wolf-skins, fringed with human scalps, a few of which were still green
from the head of the fallen Pequot. Thus arrayed, he took his seat at the
sacred fire, and on either side of him his warriors, according to rank. The
seat at his right hand was vacant.

“‘Where is Wequoash?’” inquired he, glancing his eye over the
company. As no one could answer him, all remained silent. He then propounded
the question to each one in turn, and, by way of reply, he got an abundance of conjecture
and much information touching the precious whereabouts of the missing; but, as
far as any valuable, or in the least available, intelligence was concerned, his
inquiries ended just where they began. The person in question was the second in
rank to Sassacus, and his rival in war. For a long time he had been the avowed,
and, as he supposed, the accepted, lover of the fair lano. The wreath that
decked her brow his hand had woven; the fur robes that covered her lovely form
were the spoils of his bow. In secret, indeed, she had cherished his hopes,
intending to accept him at last should she fail in attracting Sassacus, though
in public she had always treated him with the same cold indifference which
marked her conduct towards the rest of her admirers. Thus fed, his passion
increased in strength and violence, till it was too late to check its growth or
to transfer it to another object. . . . In his anguish he had vowed eternal
hate, and now awaited with his native indifference a favorable opportunity to
wreck his purposed vengeance. By rank he was expected to be present at the marriage
and to assist at the customary sacrifices, and the ardor with which he had
superintended the preparations made his absence appear strange and unaccountable.

III.

“On the north shore of the Hobomak is a plain stretching away to
the distance of several miles, skirted on the western side by a high range of
hills, whose declivities, lined as they are with jutting masses of rock and a
few scattering old trees, are, even at this day, sufficiently solemn and
gloomy.” The most prominent of this range is Boston hill, so called, because it
was supposed to be as thickly populated with rattlesnakes as Boston with
people. “Here and there yawns a cavern whose frightful depths few have
courage or inclination to penetrate, so are left to be the abode of serpents
and toads, and all such creatures as flee the face of man. Among these dismal
haunts Wequoash, desirous to appear at the wedding signalized by some recent
achievement, had been searching all day for the lurking-place of a panther
which for a long time had infested the neighborhood. After an active and
patient search, he found a crevice between two overhanging rocks that opened
wider and deeper than the rest, and plunged into it without hesitation. On
reaching the bottom he descried a narrow passage which branched off in a
lateral direction under the base of the hill. Along this he crept upon his
hands and knees for several hundred feet, till at length it terminated in a
spacious cavern, the size of which, perfectly dark as it was, he found it
difficult to determine. In this perplexity he gave a shrill cry, to try the
effect of the reverberations. A low, faint echo died along the distant walls,
followed by the hoarse growl of a wild beast. The experienced ear of the Indian
instantly told him that he had hit upon the object of his search, and,
directing a glance to another part of the vault, he discovered the eyes of the
animal glaring like meteors in the midst of the surrounding darkness. . . .

“Wequoash quickly saw that he was discovered. He could perceive
the gleaming eyes gradually making towards him, till, crouching within a few
feet, the animal appeared on the point of making the fatal spring. It was a
moment requiring all the nerve for which he was distinguished even among his
own stout-hearted race. He had left his bow behind him, not supposing that he
should require its service in the bosom of the hills; and his tomahawk, hanging
at his side, was his only weapon of attack or defence. To move from his position,
in a place with which he was wholly unacquainted, would be attended with great
hazard, and to retreat through the narrow aperture by which he had entered
would expose him to the attack of his foe at still greater disadvantage. Amidst
these perplexities the cool-headed Indian formed his plan of action as
deliberately as if the merest trifle had been staked upon the issue. Seizing
his hatchet from his belt, he hulled it with an instinctive aim, and bounded
from the floor of the cave. In his descent he fell prostrate upon the body of
the beast. The deadly missile had cleft his skull, and, by vaulting from his
position, the hunter avoided the fatal spring which the creature sometimes
makes upon its enemies, in the agonies of death. With much effort he drew his
booty to the mouth of the cavern, and, throwing it over his shoulder, commenced
his return, night having long since fallen.

IV.

“The volatile lano could not resist the temptation to play the
truant to her betrothed, and to disappoint, for one night at least, the
assembled youth of the tribe. At the farther extremity of the Hobomak was a
huge old willow, mantled by an enormous wild grape-vine whose branches depended
so as to form a beautiful natural arbor. Thither she was fond of retiring with
one or two of her companions, and they, in honor of her, had named it lano’s
bower. In this charmed retreat she determined to pass the night, even at the
risk of forever alienating her lover. So, unmooring her canoe, she stepped into
the toppling thing, and darted from the shore. Away, away it flew dancing over
the water, so light as scarcely to leave a ripple on the tranquil surface.
Before she had reached the middle, the harvest-moon arose and threw its
full-orbed light directly upon her. Hearing the sound of a light, stealthy
footstep, and fearing that she should be discovered, she turned her canoe
towards the nearest shore, and took refuge under the shadows of the overhanging
trees.

“Wequoash was hastening homeward with his game, anxious lest he
should be too late to participate in the cheer of the festival ; for it ill
assorted with his ideas of manliness, as well as with his dark system of
policy, to appear wanting in merriment and good-nature on an occasion so joyous
to his rival and so humiliating to himself. As he neared the shore of the pond
he descried a canoe skimming gracefully over the water, the moonbeams glancing
from the paddle as it rose in light and even strokes, which the rower would now
and then suspend, and look cautiously about her as if suspecting danger.

“‘It is the canoe of the False-hearted,’ said he to himself; ‘no other of our girls can dip her oars so lightly.’ She was alone, and he could wish for no more favorable opportunity to accomplish the pent-up purpose of his breast. The demon of vengeance had seized fast hold upon him, and every other consideration was forgotten. Seeing her approach the shore, he cast off his hunting-dress, dropped into the water a little before the bark, and swam softly beneath the surface till he was within a few feet of it. Just then the vigilant fugitive let fall her paddle, and applied her ear close to the water that she might detect more readily the footsteps of her pursuers, little dreaming that so deadly a foe lurked at the very bow of her skiff. To seize her by her floating tresses and drag her down required but little effort. A thrilling shriek of agony, a few frantic struggles, and all was over. She sunk like lead when released from the powerful grasp of the warrior. The canoe he dragged to a little distance, threw into it a large stone, which secured it firmly at the bottom, thus obliterating every trace of his victim. He regained the shore, resumed his dress, bore away his game to a place of concealment, and, plunging into the forest, quickly was out of sight.

V.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“The maidens who had been appointed to escort the bride into the
presence of her lord sent one of their number with a message that lano had
disappeared a little before sunset, and could nowhere be found. A suspicion
flashed across every mind that her disappearance was some way connected with
the absence of Wequoash. All knew the strength of his former attachment and suspected
the depth of his disappointment, and they were well assured that his haughty
and irascible spirit would never brook an injury. Seizing their hatchets and
bows, Sassacus and his young men sprang off into the woods to discover, if
possible, the delinquent bride. Long and diligent was their search; every glade
and dell was explored, but all to no purpose. Her canoe was gone, and no traces
of it or of her could be found. Silent and dejected, they returned to the scene
of their festivity; all but Sassacus. He came not. For hours they awaited him,
indulging a feeble hope that he had been more successful; but even this, faint
as it was, was dashed by the approach of the chief, wearing a look of despair.
He had seen his bride unmoor her skiff, and, guessing her intention, had run
along the shore, keeping parallel with the course, intending to surprise the
fair fugitive by seizing her in his arms just as she should spring to the land.
She had eluded his sight by rowing under the cover of the woods on the opposite
shore, and he began to fear she had given him the slip, after all his
vigilance, when a narrow opening in the trees let in the moonbeams upon her,
enough to project the out- line of her form. All at once he saw her drop her
oar, bend her ear to the water in the act of listening, then sink heavily
beneath the wave. He remembered the heartless sacrifice, and his native
superstition overcame him. His bride had perished by the unseen power of the
Evil Spirit.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

“After two days had elapsed, Wequoash had appeared in the
village bearing the body of the panther. He was received by the aged and the
children, the women and the warriors, with yells of delight; for his burden
explained the cause of his absence, and, as usually happens when men find they
have been indulging in groundless suspicions, their regard for him rose to a
higher pitch than before. On learning the miserable fate of lano, he was
smitten with deep apparent grief; he smote his breast, and uttered the most
frantic exclamations, like one distracted. Recovering at length, he applied
himself with unwearied assiduity to console the unhappy Sassacus, and by
degrees the chief became more and more cheerful, till he appeared to have quite
forgotten his sorrow. His gladness was but temporary, for heaviness and
depression of spirits again stole over him, which terminated soon after with
his life. Wequoash had now obtained complete revenge; his rival and his
false-hearted mistress were both sleeping in the arms of death, and no one suspected
his agency in destroying them. He assumed the command of the tribe, and having
mourned a decent interval over the dead body of his predecessor, he sought to
obliterate his memory from the minds of the people by leading them out to
battle against the brave Narragansetts. Since, among savages, personal prowess
is the only basis of distinction, his bravery and address in war soon rendered
him a universal favorite.

VI.

‘”The thirteenth moon had just begun to wane when Wequoash,
returning one evening from a hunting expedition, seated himself upon a fallen
tree near the shore of the Hobomak, and not far from the spot where, the year
before, he had taken such vengeance upon the solitary maiden. . . . As he sat
thus in troubled contemplation, a flame appeared streaming from the water just
over the place where the bones of the maiden slept, and casting upon everything
around a blue mephitic light, of all, the most fearful. Presently a canoe
arose, and floated straight towards him, as if animated by an invisible agency.
Urged by an irresistible influence, he entered it, and was wafted directly to
the strange illumination, which gradually resolved into a form like the form of
the murdered lano, only the expression was more sad and pensive. The spirit
gazed intently upon him for a long time, unable as he was to resist the
fascination; then, uttering a piercing shriek, melted away from his sight. He
fell in a state of insensibility; on recovering, he found himself lying by the fallen
tree, suffering from extreme exhaustion, and with much difficulty crept home
before morning.

“Another revolution of the seasons brought another similar
night. The lightnings gleamed vividly in the far-off horizon; the fireflies
flitted over the morass; stillness reigned; the blue flame arose; the skiff
came to the shore; the chieftain was again impelled to embark; the sorrowful
form of the dead again appeared before him, and, exclaiming ‘Only once more,’
again vanished into the abyss of waters.

“Deep melancholy now pervaded the mind of Wequoash. For days he
would roam the forest without food, and shunning the faces of his fellow-men. .
. . In this manner the year wore away, and the fatal night returned. This time
he assembled the tribe by the shore, and, in a long and pathetic harangue,
disclosed to them how that it was by his hand the canoe of lano had sunk; how
that he had poisoned the sorrowing Sassacus under the pretence of administering
exhilarating draughts. He then recounted his interviews with the unavenged
spirit of the injured girl, and darkly alluded to the fate that there awaited
him. Petrified with fear, they saw him enter the approaching canoe, and move passively
to the mysterious flame. A form arose, but it was not the form of lano. Her
gentle spirit could not come for vengeance. It was the form of Sassacus, dark,
terrific, confounding. ‘This is my hour,’ it said. Wequoash drew his robe
closer about him, and folded his arms in token of resignation. A black cloud
hovered over him; a vivid flash, a stunning thunder-peal, a few big rain-drops,
— all was over; thick darkness succeeded; the chieftain was seen no more.

“The season was afterwards celebrated by the tribe for many generations, and a song was composed, which the maidens sung at their marriage festivals, — a mournful thing, descriptive of the character and fortunes of the rival chiefs and the too-much-loved lano. Whenever they crossed the Hobomak, they each carried a stone and sunk it at the fatal spot, till at length the pile rose above the water. It has since fallen away by the action of the waves, but even now it may be seen when the surface is perfectly tranquil. A mysterious dread still attaches to it, and if the fisherman chance to strike it with his oar, he hurries away as from a place to be avoided.”

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About

The Westborough Center for History and Culture at the Westborough Public Library celebrates, facilitates, and documents the life and culture of Westborough, MA. It is a place where residents can actively share the stories, memories, and cultural life of our town and contribute to preserving our collective understanding of what Westborough is all about.

Anthony Vaver, Ph.D., M.L.S.
Local History Librarian
The Westborough Center for History and Culture